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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26642929">Stay</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfire/pseuds/pinkfire'>pinkfire</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Car Accidents, M/M, Memories, Mild Blood, Mild Sexual Content</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:07:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,396</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26642929</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfire/pseuds/pinkfire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When his world spins, the leverage Dejun searches for is always Johnny’s hand. It’s led him in 3 AM kitchen dances, swept his tears away, brushed through his hair when he panicked.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Suh Youngho | Johnny/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When his world spins, the leverage Dejun searches for is always Johnny’s hand. It’s led him in 3 AM kitchen dances, swept his tears away, brushed through his hair when he panicked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, as it lay with its palm toward the sky, stiff, unconscious, Dejun still reaches for it. He snakes his trembling fingers between Johnny’s, holds the fading warmth tight. So tight. He doesn’t want to let go. “Stay,” he whispers, letting a warm tear slice through the cold bite on the bridge of his nose and drip into whatever’s glimmering beneath him. It could be glass. It could be blood. It could miraculously be fairy dust he could make a wish on to keep Johnny. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t respond. Through limited blueish light which cuts shadows with the car’s now jagged shapes, Dejun can see that he’s unconscious. And even like this, thrown against the roof of an upturned car, bent and twisted by limited space, skin paled, he’s the sun. He’s the warmth Dejun can’t survive without. The snow that falls on his arm, where it found the outside through a broken window, should be melting instantly as Dejun does at his touch, but they cling to his corduroy sleeve. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dejun tugs at Johnny’s hand, causing the car’s frame to whine. “Please, baby. Stay with me.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dark liquid starts to inch from under Johnny’s blond fringe, down his forehead, dripping faster than Dejun’s tears had. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“</span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">Please</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s1">.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wishes he could use the word like he did the day he met him. That night he found a sweet, alluring man at a party and took him home. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Johnny, </span> <em> <span class="s2">please</span></em><span class="s1">. I can take it,” he said, arching until his stomach was flush against Johnny’s abs, subconsciously gripping at the pillows. Their story started here, in Dejun’s messy little one-bedroom, illuminated by a cheap bedside lamp. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He felt it the moment they locked eyes across Hendery’s crowded living room. Johnny was better than a one night stand. He was more. With every touch—gentle caresses to Dejun’s thighs, fingers through his hair, kisses to his imperfections—he was seeping into his bloodstream and, consequently, his heart. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was supposed to be the end of their story when Johnny pulled out, but he hugged Dejun to his chest and said, “let’s see each other again.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Was I that good?” Dejun teased, snuggling into Johnny like it wasn’t sticky hot in his room. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Duh.” Johnny ran his fingertips up and down Dejun’s back, his middle finger in the dip of his spine. “You were amazing. You </span> <span class="s2">are</span> <span class="s1"> amazing. You smell good, too.” Compliments like this would never do much, but that time, it made him glow, hiding his smile between Johnny’s firm pecs. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny didn’t seem like the type to fuck one person more than once, but Dejun was still guilty of judging a book by its cover. This cover was decorated with tattoos, across his pecs, down his arm, behind his ear. He had a few piercings, too. Aside from his ears, he had a stud on his tongue and barbells in his nipples. These things could have diverted him from saying yes, but he figured he might stay around to ask about each one; what does this say? why a snake? did it hurt? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. We should see each other again.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So, Johnny texted him a week later, wanting to come over at midnight. Dejun said yes a little too eagerly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he heard a couple raps on the door, he sprung from his spot on the couch and padded over. He was barefoot and in his sleepwear, a t-shirt and pajamas. He was going to take them off anyway, he figured. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One thing he’s always loved about Johnny was his height. Well, not necessarily his height, but what he made Dejun feel with his height. It’s always made him flustered to look up at a handsome face that was a head higher than him. He liked to feel small. But not every man could make him feel small in the way Johnny did. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Walking into Dejun’s apartment and enveloping him in a hug, giving him no choice but to wrap his arms around his waist and press his cheek to his chest, Johnny made Dejun feel </span> <em> <span class="s2">safe.</span></em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With other tall men, Dejun simply felt intimidated or even scared. With Johnny, it was quite the opposite.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Missed me that much?” Dejun asked, voice muffled by the soft, cologne-soaked cotton of Johnny’s long-sleeve. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you ask a lot of obvious questions?” Johnny released him from the hug. That response was unexpected, so Dejun simply ignored it the way his heart couldn’t, leading Johnny toward his couch. He hoped he wouldn’t notice how fast his heart was beating. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Naturally, Dejun ended up on Johnny’s lap, loosely gripping his hair while wet kisses were littered over his neck. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can I tell you something?” Johnny asked, continuing to knead Dejun’s hips with warm, big hands. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go ahead.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I don’t really want to get off.” He paused to suck gently under Dejun’s ear. “I just wanted to touch you. Like, not because I’m horny. Because </span> <em> <span class="s2">you’re</span> </em> <span class="s1"> so pretty.” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">That was when he knew they were going to be a </span> <em> <span class="s2">thing</span></em><span class="s1"><em>.</em> </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They started going on dates and sleeping at each other’s places. It all felt like a dream to Dejun, thinking back on their memories. Cuddling under the stars, doodling hearts on each other, sharing milkshakes. Johnny introduced Dejun to his band (a group of guys who Johnny played with in his garage), slung his arm around his shoulders and was very proud to announce: “this pretty boy is all mine!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Dejun became dependent on seeing Johnny’s cute smile and feeling his loving embrace every day, but he wasn’t scared. He knew Johnny would be there as soon as Dejun asked, he knew he wouldn’t leave him. Their love was beautiful because it wasn’t a game. They weren’t afraid to remind each other how they felt and they weren’t afraid that </span> <em> <span class="s2">I love you</span> </em> <span class="s1"> would lose its meaning.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His fondest memory was on their one-year anniversary:</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They didn’t go somewhere fancy, like that expensive restaurant downtown. It wasn’t their style, so they stayed at Dejun’s all day, cuddling and watching tv. Johnny had attempted to make breakfast, but he managed to even burn the toast, so Dejun stepped in and made pancakes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He remembers the night clearly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Every line of silver cut by the blinds that shone on Johnny’s face, every freckle across his cheek, the exact state of his stubble, how he looked and felt and smelled. He was wearing a cotton tee and boxers but still looked like he belonged on the cover of Vogue. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dejun was only wearing one of Johnny’s old flannels. He most clearly remembers that sleepy, happy little smile on Johnny’s face when he settled into the warmth of his lap. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny took hold of his hand, lifting it up so he could see his work from earlier. They’d decided to do stick-and-poke tattoos on each other. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their names. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So, Dejun had his boyfriend’s name written sloppy and lopsided, permanent on his wrist. His handiwork on Johnny was a lot prettier, with swirly letters and a heart and all. Oh well, he still loved his own tattoo, what with the person who did it, the name and handwriting that marked his skin. Johnny himself cringed at it. “Sorry I did that to you, babe.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey.” Dejun leaned forward and wriggled his hand out of Johnny’s grasp, resting his elbows on either side of his head. “I love it, okay? It’s beautiful.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“God, I don’t deserve you. You’re so...” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dejun smiled, tucking his nose against Johnny’s. “So...?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re the love of my life. I would marry you right now if you asked. Hell, I would pack my bags and move to another country if you asked. Right fucking now.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And what about your band?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re more important.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dejun could hardly get out an “I love you” before their lips joined in their most passionate yet languid kiss. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Johnny taught Dejun what real love felt like. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If only he taught him what to do when it’s gone. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How to be happy without Johnny’s beautiful words and warm body? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How to keep going when he feels Johnny’s hand going ice cold in his own? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“</span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">How?!</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s1">” he sobs, holding Johnny’s soft cheek in his palm. “How could I live without you?” </span>
</p>
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